


The Truth in Fairytales

by irinokat



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: AU with no name, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Light Sci Fi/Fantasy Elements, M/M, Physical Abuse, Protagonists are kids/teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-21 22:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9569618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irinokat/pseuds/irinokat
Summary: Guzma just needs someone to care for him. He finds that in the lady by the beach who tells him tales of the portals to the places beyond his world. What really lies behind them, and how can they open one?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> New story! I had this idea slap me so hard at work I just kind of had to start writing it down and getting it out. This first chapter's mostly just set-up; more characters will be tagged as they come in. As noted in the tags, this is an AU starting with Kukui and Guzma as twelve-year-olds; things wildly diverge from canon as they get into their teens. Tag is mostly for swearing later on and mild violence. I'll try to put a note before chapters featuring physical abuse, but just know the emotional abuse is basically a theme through the whole thing. This chapter features an implied result of physical abuse. (I promise I'm still updating Healing! New chapter'll be up tomorrow - I mean later today, crap it's late! ... And also probably a new chapter of this.)

Kukui’s watching the younger kids play in the center of Iki Town when he sees another young boy, a tall one, pass by. “Hey!” he calls, recognizing the kid from classes but not remembering his name. The kid barely looks up before continuing on. “Hey, hey, um, you!”

This time the boy looks up – he’s wearing a set of yellow sunglasses that cover half his face. His scraggly wavy black hair falls half over them as he turns and stops. “What?” He sounds annoyed.

“You wanna play?” Truth is, Kukui gets pretty bored pretty fast when the grown-ups say it’s his job to watch the other three kids in town. They don’t usually want him to play with them – unless they think they can trick him into doing something they’re not allowed to, like trying to go to the ruins or leave town and look for Pokémon in the grass. He wants something to do besides just being the boring babysitter who keeps the others from doing anything “fun.”

The boy gives a slight shake of his head before continuing on, past the center of town. Kukui watches him as he – he’s heading towards the ruins. “Hey!” Kukui calls again. He hasn’t seen the kid around Iki Town much – maybe he just doesn’t know. “You’re not allowed to go to the ruins by yourself!”

The kid stops. “Who says?”

“Uncle Hala and my parents.” Kukui looks out over the kids. “And their parents.”

“Pff.” The kid keeps walking after blowing him off.

“I’m serious! Don’t go up there!” He’s not one of the kids that Kukui’s watching, but Kukui still doesn’t want to see him get in trouble.

The boy keeps going.

Kukui chases after him, not noticing as the other kids follow, finally getting to do something exciting for once. It doesn’t take long to catch up to him. Kukui grabs his shoulder and says, “Don’t go!”

He gets elbowed in the gut for his trouble, stumbling back. It doesn’t hurt much, at least – the boy was just trying to shake him off. Now, though, the kid starts running, tearing his way up Mahalo Trail. Kukui tries to follow, but he’s slow, slightly winded from the hit and a little out of shape to begin with. The other kids overtake him, and now he’s really gotta go – he’s going to get in so much trouble if their parents catch them out here.

At least the other kids can’t run for long, either – the switchbacks as the hill rises leaves them all out of breath. The boy still pushes ahead as long as he can, slowing to a walk, puffing and panting. Kukui puts in a little burst of speed and manages to catch up again. “We really - shouldn’t - be here,” he says between gasps for air.

“I just wanna see the ruins for a minute,” the boy says.

“But you’re not supposed to!”

“Who even cares?” The boy asks, whipping around. Kukui guesses he’s looking at him through the sunglasses, and probably glaring from the way his eyebrows come down and knit together. Kukui can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous they look on his face. The boy growls, turns, and runs off again.

Soon they’re at the bridge spanning the chasm between Mahalo Trail and the Ruins of Conflict. Kukui shouts after the boy one last time. “Stop!”

Not heeding him, the boy continues on, across the bridge. As he clatters over it, he startles Murkrows overhead, flying down and circling him. He reaches the end – and finally comes to a halt.

Kukui looks up and sees the figure of Kahuna Hala appearing from inside the ruins. The boy is shaking now, the birds flying down to peck at him. One grabs at his glasses – he shouts and grabs them, holding them close to his chest.

As Hala approaches, the birds scatter. He looks at the boy and frowns. Kukui tenses – he feels bad for the kid, even if he’s the one causing all the trouble – until Hala plants a hand on his shoulder and asks him, “What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” the boy says. It sounds a little like he’s still panting, voice out of breath.

“That’s not nothing,” Hala says, pointing to his face. Kukui wonders what’s going on.

“It’s not a big deal!” the boy shouts.

“Did you hit something? Or did someone hit you?”

“I can handle it!” the boy says, stiff, hands balled into fists.

“Then why did you come to see the Tapu, Guzma?” Hala asks. Kukui blinks. Is that what he was after? Then he remembers – right, Guzma is that boy’s name.

Guzma says something quietly, still panting – though now his breaths almost sound like sobs. Hala replies just as quietly. They talk for a moment before Guzma shouts, “I can take care of it myself!” He turns away and stomps back across the bridge, toward Kukui. Kukui takes a good look at his face – his green eyes are big, right eye is surrounded by a huge bruise, purple and blue. Guzma looks him in the eye and glares before running past him, shoving his glasses back on as he runs down the hill.

Kukui watches until he feels a hand on his own shoulder. Oh no – now he’s going to get it. “He’s about your age, correct?” Hala asks. Kukui nods. “Do you know of any other kids who are mean to him? Anyone you would call a bully in your classes?”

Shrugging, Kukui says, “I dunno. Sometimes a couple of kids yell and call people names, but I’ve never seen anybody hit someone else.”

“Remember, if you see anyone acting unkind to you or someone else, it’s okay to tell your teacher.” Hala smiles. “Or me. We can’t solve a problem unless we know there’s a problem to fix.” Kukui just nods again – he’s been told that a million times. “We should probably get back to the village now.” He waves past Kukui to the children coming up the hill – they freeze and bolt back. Hala laughs. “Maybe they’ll think before they come up here again.” He walks back with Kukui, smiling and waving to the anxious parents waiting back in town, acting as if the kids were with him the whole time.

 

One of Guzma’s best memories is the day he got his first Pokémon.

He was nine at the time. His dad was going on a golf trip to Akala Island and decided to bring him along. At first Guzma was anxious, careful, being overly polite to his dad’s friends in Heahea City, doing his best to act like the good kid his father expected him to be. When they got to the motel on Route 8 that night, his father gave him a rare smile and ordered pizza for dinner, a get-away from his mother’s healthy home-cooked meals. Guzma still couldn’t help feeling nervous, though – things were good, but when would something go wrong?

The next morning was the day of the tournament – Guzma’s father ordered him to stay in the room and study, that his homework should be done by the time he got back. There was leftover pizza in the fridge, and his dad left him with a couple dollars to get a drink from the vending machines in the lobby and a keycard to get back in the room, but told him not to leave the motel property.

It didn’t take him long to do his homework, and his textbooks were so boring – he hated having to read them for no reason he could see. He flopped on the bed and flipped through the TV channels, but nothing good was on – no movies his parents wouldn’t let him see, or any good kids’ shows on the few channels the place got. Bored, he decided to go for a walk and get a lemonade.

As he walked outside, he noticed three older kids heading off down the road. They turned to the right, heading down the hill into the area right next to the motel. He got to the edge of the little cliff side the motel sat on and looked down – there was a rocky beach down there. He glanced around, knowing his dad wouldn’t be back soon but feeling his eyes on his back. There’d be no way he’d know if Guzma just walked there and back, right? It was right next to the motel. No one here would know to tell his dad. Taking another look around, he bolted down the road and the path.

The kids were near the bottom of the cliff, bent over, laughing and pointing at something. He walked over to them, trying to see past them and spot what they were looking at. It was a Pokémon – a small one, almost flat on the ground, its back covered in silvery white plates, its large, frightened eyes surrounded by a purple plate. Its antennae were laid flat back against its plates as it shuffled back and forth and looked from child to child. It saw Guzma and its eyes got even bigger – more scared, he thought. It was looking for a way out, an escape.

“What are you guys doing?” Guzma asked the kids. They turned and looked at him for a moment before deciding they didn’t care and turning back to the creature.

One of the kids reached out to grab the poor little bug-looking Pokémon. It skittered backward, scuffling into another kid’s legs. That one kicked at it, shouting, “Gross, get it away from me!”  The poor Pokémon was sent flying backwards.

“Stop it!” Guzma yelled. “You’re scaring it!”

“It’s just a bug,” the kid who’d tried to pick it up said. She put her hands out toward it again.

This time purple liquid sprayed from under it, spattering the childrens’ legs and feet. The three kids screamed and ran, shouting, “Ew! That thing’s nasty!” As they ran into the water to try to get the stuff off of them, the bug shot off, heading down the side of the rocky cliff. Guzma followed.

The Pokémon turned near the water, darting into a cave in the cliff side. Guzma ducked down to peer into it. There was no way he could fit into it; it was too small. And he didn’t really want to chase the bug more, either; the poor thing was clearly terrified. He sat down and watched the cave, fascinated, wondering if another one might come out. Maybe there was a family of them here, and this was a nest.

He’d always liked bug Pokémon. He was too young to be allowed to catch one yet, but he liked watching the trees, seeing Spinaraks building webs and Ledybas resting against the bark. Once his mom gave him a book about Brooklet Hill – he came to his teacher the next day with all sorts of questions about Dewpiders, how they kept their water bubbles intact, what they ate, how they walked, how they fought. It was one of the few things that really interested him in school, learning about them and how they worked – at least there was always a class about the local Pokémon, so he’d learn about the Caterpies and Cutieflies in Melemele Meadow when the other kids weren’t just going on about cuter Pokemon like Meowths and Rockruffs.

Guzma wasn’t sure he’d seen much about this little bug, though. It might be a Poison-type, with that spray it released – then again, a lot of bugs that weren’t Poison-type could learn one or two moves. Maybe it was part Water-type since it lived so near the ocean. That didn’t mean it went _in_ the water, though…

He sat there thinking longer than he meant to, long enough that a couple antennae popped out of the hole. He leaned in – they disappeared again. Annoyed, he sat back. As he stayed there, the antennae popped out again – then the eyes and what looked to be the upper part of its mouth. Guzma nearly stopped breathing as the creature emerged from the hole, staring at him, not in fright this time but – curiosity?

The bug approached him slowly, almost anticipating movement. He did his best to sit motionless, even trying to keep his breaths shallow – he didn’t want to scare it off again. Thankfully the other kids were long gone, leaving him alone here with the Pokémon.

It came up to his leg and moved up it – he could feel one of its little jointed legs on his skin as it almost seemed to sniff him, moving its mouth over his knee. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he lifted his hand. He stopped when the bug looked and jerked – but soon it looked away, letting him try again. The bug jumped and squirmed when it felt his fingers on its back, but he let himself go still, and eventually the bug relaxed. Soon he was softly petting it, running his hand over its plates down to its long spiny tail.

He looked up at the sun and realized it was lower in the sky than when he’d come out here – crap, what if his dad had gotten back? He pulled the bug off of him and got up, dusting his shorts, hoping it wouldn’t be obvious he’d left. Hopefully he’d get back before – something bumped his foot.

Guzma glanced down – the bug was bumping into his heel. He gently shook it off and walked down the beach – there was that bump again. He turned and waved back toward its cave, trying to shoo it away, but it wouldn’t leave. Guzma ran back up the path, looking behind to see the bug skittering behind him.

“Go away,” he hissed at it. “If Dad sees you – if he sees me –” Two trainers passed, not looking at him, talking happily with one another. The bug jumped onto his leg, practically attaching itself to him, eyes wide and scared again. “Go home!” he told it, pointing back toward the cave, trying to pull it off. It wouldn’t let go. And if he were honest, he didn’t want it to go.

Looking around again, he pulled the bug off and hugged it to himself, running back to the motel room. This was a terrible idea, a stupid terrible idea that would get him in so much trouble, but it was an idea he liked. He trembled so hard sliding the keycard through the slot that he had to try it three times before the door unlocked. He barreled in and whipped his head around – his dad wasn’t there. The door shut behind him. He pressed his back to it and slid down until he was sitting on the floor, smiling at the bug in his arms. It still seemed scared, but it wanted to stick to him now instead of running away.

Guzma got up and rooted through his dad’s suitcase, trying not to unfold any of the clothes, make it look like he hadn’t been digging through the things. There it was – a small bag his dad kept of Pokémon supplies. He opened it up – on top were Pokébeans. He slipped one to the little bug before he searched the bag, finally finding what he was looking for – one of the few empty Pokéballs his parents kept around, “just in case.”

Shaking, Guzma pushed the button to enlarge it and tapped it against the bug’s shell. The bug disappeared in a flash of red light; at first the ball rocked so hard it fell out of Guzma’s hands. He stared at it as it slowly rocked back and forth – it wasn’t nearly as violent as the demonstrations at school sometimes were, especially not moving the way it did when the Pokémon would inevitably burst out. One, two, three seconds – it clicked. Guzma grabbed it and whooped, screaming and cackling with elation.

He knew he was too young to have a Pokémon yet, but he didn’t care. This one wanted him. He wanted it. It was that simple. And now he’d caught his first ever, years early, without any help. Wouldn’t his dad be proud?

His dad. He thought he heard footsteps outside. Frantically he minimized the ball and shoved it deep in his pocket, barely daring to breathe. The steps passed by and after a few minutes, he relaxed.

He didn’t take out the bug again, though. Maybe Dad would be happy, but maybe he’d be mad that Guzma had left when he’d been told not to. The more Guzma thought about it, the more reasons he came up with that his dad would be angry. Sad, he hid the Pokeball at the bottom of his backpack before putting everything in his dad’s bag back and storing it in the suitcase.

The rest of the trip Guzma was giddy, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t explain why. His dad seemed happy, too – he’d done well at the tournament, and took Guzma to a nice restaurant in Konikoni City to celebrate. It was one of the best weekends Guzma could remember having.

Of course, that was because it didn’t come out that he’d taken the ball until they got home. He was in his room, wondering if he should risk letting the bug out, when he heard his dad shouting. Fearful, he hid the ball under his pillow, the only thing he could do before his dad burst in. “What did you do with my Pokéball?” he thundered as Guzma stared at him. He watched as his dad ripped drawers open, threw his sheets back, pulled up the pillow – there it was.

Guzma was shaking when his dad asked, “What the hell were you doing with th–” He stopped as he felt the weight of it in his hand, realized it wasn’t empty.

Still trembling, he took the ball from his dad and let the bug out. “I – I caught it myself,” he said quietly as the bug stared up in fright at the man in front of it.

“A Wimpod?” Guzma’s dad asked. “You caught a _Wimpod_ for your first Pokémon?”

“Isn’t it cool?” Guzma risked asking.

“Of course you would pick something that runs away when it’s barely been scratched.” His dad drew his foot back as if to kick it. Frightened, the Wimpod skittered under the bed. His dad sighed. “Let it go.”

“No!” Guzma shouted, not knowing where the words came from. “It’s mine! He’s mine!”

“It won’t do you any good, not like a proper starter Pokémon would.”

“I can train him!”

“How?” The Wimpod’s antennae popped out from under the bed. His dad reached down and grabbed it before it could back off. “All it does is run away. That’s not how any son of mine is going to act.”

“I won’t – I’ll teach him not to!” Guzma grabbed at the trembling bug. “I promise!”

His dad dropped the bug, disgusted. Guzma scrambled to catch it, falling over himself to protect it. As he held it, patting it, trying to calm it down, his dad said, “You’re grounded for the next week.”

“But, but Dad!” he tried to protest.

“I told you not to go out and clearly you did. And then you stole one of my Pokéballs! What am I supposed to do, act like it didn’t happen and let you do whatever you want?” Guzma fell silent. It was better not to argue when Dad was like this – he’d just get punished worse. “You’re only allowed to go to school and to – to let this thing out to exercise in the yard. You won’t let it do its business in the house, understand?” He nodded. His dad sighed. “Would you just listen to me for once?”

“Sorry, dad,” Guzma whispered, staring at the Wimpod. It gave a sympathetic look back, almost like it understood what was happening.

Even followed up by that dreary week, the weekend stuck out in his memory as one of the bright times with his dad. One of the few he could hold onto as things got worse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated this in a while! This chapter was a bit of a bugaboo to write, but hopefully it turned out okay and we can move on to other things.
> 
> A few notes: in this version of Alola, kids don't start the island trials until they're thirteen, and are only allowed to catch Pokemon once they turn thirteen. The house talked about is Kukui's lab in the games. I'm basically just changing some other minor things to fit with the story a little better, I'll note things like this if I change anything too major. Also: there will be a positive ending, but this fic is not a very happy one.

No one goes to the old house on the beach. Adults said it had been constructed poorly, with a bad foundation; the children, discontent with so boring an explanation, said it was haunted. Either way, the house, and the little bay it sat in, were rarely visited nowadays. It wasn’t a very old house, and someone was taking some kind of care of it, keeping it from rotting away and being broken into, but their presence was minimal – most of the time, the place was completely empty. Plus, the grass had started to grow wild around the place, letting Pokémon roam as they pleased nearby, so the kids had yet more reason not to go down there, but the Pokémon were the same you could find anywhere else on Route 1, so people usually left the place alone.

Which is why this is where Guzma goes to hide. Sure, sometimes people pass by on their way to Ten Carat Hill, but as long as he stays out of the way, around the back of the house, no one would notice him sitting, staring out at the waves, sometimes crying, sometimes watching his Wimpod play in the waves breaking on the beach. He has to be careful with Wimpod – if anyone saw them together, the Pokémon would get taken away from him, since he’s too young to have Pokémon of his own – but having a place to let it play outside his room, closer to its natural habitat, is hard to pass up.

First, though, today, he’d gone to Iki Town, hoping he could quietly sneak up to the ruins and ask a favor of the tapu. Who knew the other kids would be right smack in the center of town, and that they’d cause a ruckus and follow him? Who knew that the kahuna would have chosen to go to the ruins today of all days? He tugs at his hair as he replays the whole thing in his mind. “Stupid, stupid, stupid, what were you thinking?” He should’ve checked it out more, should’ve studied when Hala went up there, should’ve should’ve should’ve…

At least he’s relatively alone on his way down Route 1 to the house. There are a couple of trainers out, but they take no notice, used to seeing people come and go, even kids wandering around and playing in the safe paths of the route.  He scuffs at the dirt under his feet as he walks. What would Tapu Koko do, anyways? Make his dad disappear? Make him big enough to fight back? Swoop in and save the day the next time Dad got pissed? Even just making his dad a little less angry would be helpful, but why would the tapu help out a kid like him? The tapu are known for being withdrawn from society…

He knew it was a long shot, but he just couldn’t shut up the tiny voice inside him begging to ask someone, something for help.

He looks up at the house as he comes down the hill – and stops. There’s light shining through the windows, under the blinds. Carefully he walks through the grass, trying not to startle any Pokémon, and takes a look around the whole building.

The front door is open. People are here.

He thinks about what to do. It’s probably just the guy who owns this place, doing another quick cleaning to keep the place from smelling and getting infested. Guzma’s never run into him before, but he’s barely been visiting this place a year, and it was bound to happen sometime. He should just go.

But go where? Where else could he be alone, with no one asking questions or bugging him or yelling at him or –

He shakes his head. He’s already here. And he’s always been curious about what the house actually looks like inside. Why not take a look inside? Then he’d show the others. No way the stupid place was haunted. He’d never seen or heard a sign of a Ghost Pokémon here.

Carefully Guzma opens the front door further and sneaks in, glancing around. Everything’s tinted weird – he remembers the sunglasses and pulls them up, letting them rest on his forehead so he can see better. He knows how to be quiet (well, when he’s walking around – his mouth is another matter). He can probably get a look around without being seen.

The space is all one large room, it looks like, except for two doors at the back. There’s no one up here, but nearby is a staircase leading to a basement. Guzma sticks his head down the stairwell and listens; there are people down there, he can hear voices. He better look around quick.

Not that there’s much here to see, anyways. A couple pieces of furniture, a large couch and some heavy-looking chests, sit around, looking faded and aged, left behind. To the left of the front door is a small kitchen with a sink and cabinets. Near it is a loft with railings around the top, accessible by a ladder. Guzma scrambles up the rickety thing and looks around from the platform, the height making him feel powerful.

As he’s coming down, he hears faint voices. He tries to make himself go faster and misses a rung, swinging his foot out wildly, unbalancing himself and the ladder. He only falls a few feet, but the ladder comes down hard on top of him, knocking the wind out of him. After a moment to get his breath back, he sits up, shifting the ladder off of him – and sees two adults standing over him. One is a woman, with long blond hair forming a sheath around her, dressed fashionably in a blue top and black skirt with gold bracelets. The other adult, a blond man, is glaring at him through a pair of lime-green glasses, wearing a button-up short-sleeved shirt and long shorts.

Guzma scoots back from them, saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” His hand lands on something small, hard, and round on the floor – he lifts it up and sees his Pokéball. It must have fallen out of his pocket, crap. He closes his hand around it, hoping they didn’t notice.

The woman steps toward him. “Cherie, are you alright?” She sounds concerned, which is better than angry.

The man asks, “What are you doing here?” He’s definitely pissed.

Guzma stares at them. He should get up – he should run – but he feels bolted to the floor. The woman comes closer and bends down to get a better look at him. “That’s a bad bruise – surely that didn’t come from the ladder?”

Guzma swallows and tries to stammer out an answer until the man says, “Lusamine, he’s trespassing on your property.”

The woman glares up at the man. “He’s just a boy, Faba, calm down. And he’s hurt.”

Finally Guzma staggers to his feet. “I – I’m sorry,” he says again, holding his hands up to wave them away, backing toward the door.

“Is that a Pokéball?” the woman – Lusamine – asks. Guzma freezes again – he forgot he was holding it.

“Are you old enough to have one?” The man comes to him and rips it out of his hand. “Aren’t there rules here about children not having Pokémon?”

“I – I’m fourteen,” Guzma lies, feeling sweat trickle down the back of his neck. He tries to grab the ball from the man. “Give it back!”

“You don’t look fourteen to me,” the man says, holding it away from him. “Is this one of your parents’?” He glares down at Guzma again. “Or did you steal this from someone?”

“He’s mine!” Guzma shouts. “Give him back, he’s mine!”

The woman gets up and takes the man by the shoulder. “You’re always so inclined to think ill of people, Faba. Give the boy his Pokémon.” She smiles gently at Guzma. “You’ve already caught a Pokémon this young?”

Guzma looks back and forth from one to the other. Lying about that’s just gonna get him in more trouble. He reluctantly nods.

“Fantastic!” the woman says. “In Kalos we let children start at eleven. I don’t quite understand why they wait so late here.” She reaches over and takes the ball from Faba’s hand, giving it to Guzma. He clutches it tight to his chest. “Take good care of it now, okay?” He nods, starting to back away again. “Now run along, please.”

Guzma puts the Pokéball in his pocket, then turns and runs.

 

Once the boy is gone, Lusamine turns to Faba. “Why must you be so mean?”

Faba nearly starts fuming. “He broke in!”

“No, he didn’t.” Lusamine turns to the door. “I suppose one of us left the door open, or we would have heard more of a… struggle.”

“He’s a trespasser,” Faba insists.

“He’s a child.” She smiles. “An interesting one, to have a secret Pokémon.”

Faba tries to phrase his next words delicately. “Miss Lusamine, I know you have your… sensitivities towards children, but isn’t that something we should report?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being precocious.” Lusamine sighs. “Other regions aren’t quite so restrictive to children. If they’re resourceful enough to catch a Pokémon, why not let them have it?” She pauses a moment to think. “Besides, it might be interesting to research, with how our work relates to the bond between trainers and Pokémon.”

“What, so you want to make him a test subject?” Faba can’t believe that he’s the one who has to say, “He’s just a child.”

“Not some kind of lab rat, no,” Lusamine says. “But perhaps I could have a real conversation with him.”

Faba tries to broach the subject gently. “I know you miss your own children, Miss, but you can’t –“

She gives him a sharp look. “What are you suggesting, Faba?”

“Nothing, ma’am.” He takes a look around, decides to change the topic. “So where did you want the monitoring equipment? I know Wicke’s going to want her space to have a lot of light…”

 

Kukui notices Guzma standing off by the fence, by himself, during recess the next day at school and jogs up to him. “What were you trying to do yesterday?” he asks.

Guzma glares down at him. “Nunna your beeswax.”

“Where do you live?” Guzma’s eyebrow raises. “I’ve never seen you around Iki Town before.”

Guzma huffs, “Why do you care?”

Kukui shrugs. “I was just wondering.”

After a few moments, Guzma reluctantly says, “I live on Route 2.”

“Cool! I’ve never been out there. What kinda Pokémon do you see on your way home?”

“Boring ones.”

Kukui tries a different tack. “You start your island trial next year too, don’t you?”

Guzma gives him a curious look. “You’re twelve?”

Annoyed, Kukui says, “Yeah, duh. I’m in the same class as you.”

“Whatever.”

After an awkward pause, Kukui asks, “So what Pokémon are you gonna start the trials with?”

“Okay, seriously, who cares?” Guzma asks.

“I’m trying to be friendly!” Kukui says. “And it’s a big decision.”

Guzma snorts. “Trust me, you don’t wanna be friends with me.”

“Why?”

“No one else does.” Guzma looks away as he says it. “I’m just gonna get you in trouble.”

The school bell rings before Kukui can ask what he means. Guzma stomps away. Kukui wonders how he upset the other boy so badly.

 

The next day, when the boys change for gym class, Kukui doesn’t see Guzma anywhere in the room. He’s not in there the next few times gym rolls around either. When they get out on the field, Kukui finds him and asks, “Where do you change your clothes?”

Guzma asks quietly, with his teeth gritted, “Why the hell do you care?”

Kukui’s eyes widen as he hears the swearword. “I was just wondering, since you’re never in the locker room.” He cocks his head, looking at Guzma. “Are you a girl?”

That makes Guzma’s eyes go wide. “What? No!”

“I mean, it’s totally okay if you’re a girl! Mallow’s a girl, that’s why they let her change in the bathroom now.”

“I’m not a girl.” Guzma turns to walk away. Kukui grabs him by the upper arm. He winces and pulls away, hard. “Would you just leave me alone?!” His sleeve rises up as he raises his fist, showing off a bruise on his arm.

Before Kukui can say anything, the gym teacher shouts, “Guzma, get over here right now!” Guzma groans and glares at Kukui before hesitantly walking toward the teacher. Kukui watches as the teacher lectures him and makes him sit out the first ten minutes of class, feeling bad.

When there’s a minute to breathe between running exercises, Kukui comes up to the teacher and says, “Why’d he get in trouble?” The teacher gives him a confused look. “Guzma,” Kukui says. “He wasn’t doin’ anything. I just – I made him mad.”

“You need to be careful around him,” the teacher warns. “He likes to pick fights.”

“But – but we weren’t doing anything,” Kukui protests.

“He looked like he was about to hit you,” the teacher says. “That’s not okay. We don’t hit people when we’re mad. He just needed some time to cool down.”

Kukui shrugs and walks away. He didn’t think Guzma would actually hit him. Would he have?

 

Walking towards the old house on the beach, Guzma fumes to himself. At least this time, getting in trouble hadn’t resulted in a note being sent home to his parents, but it probably would again soon, and then he’d be in for it.

Like he’s not already gonna be in for it because of his stupid mouth.

When he reaches the hill above the house and the beach, he stops. There are construction workers in and around the house, surrounded by supplies. Yesterday should have made it clear, but now he really knows: this place isn’t safe anymore. He has to find somewhere else to go – if there’s somewhere else on the island. He can’t go to Melemele Meadow, or any of the tourist spots, and he’s been told repeatedly he’s not allowed to go play in the cemetery or further up Route 2 than the berry farms…

As he heads back through town toward home and his room, a lady passes him, wearing a white dress and carrying a white parasol. Something about her long, platinum blonde hair seems familiar. He’s caught staring when she turns around – it’s the lady from the beach house. He stumbles back and starts to turn around, figuring out another way home, when she says, “Why, hello there!”

He stops. She sounds friendly, not mad. “H-hi?”

She studies his face. His black eye’s better but still there, spots of purple amongst green and yellow blotches. “It’s good to see you’re doing better.” He nods. “I was just on my way to the Pokemon Center Café to get some tea. Would you like to come with me?”

“Why?” It pops out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

She smiles. “I just wanted to make sure you understand there are no hard feelings about last week.”

He shrugs. “I’m not gonna do it again.” After an awkward minute, he chokes out, “S-sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Her smile lights up her whole face. He likes seeing it. “I’d be a poor supporter of the sciences if I didn’t encourage a healthy sense of curiosity.” She pauses. “Though sneaking onto other peoples’ property certainly isn’t the best exercise of it.”

He feels his face grow hot. “Sorry.” He looks up at her. “You’re a scientist?”

“Yes.” She turns. “Why don’t you come with me? We can talk more over tea, or whatever you’d like to drink.”

They go to the Pokemon Center near his house. She pays for his cocoa, even though he insists he has pocket money. For a few moments, they don’t speak, her waiting for her tea to cool, him taking a gulp of cocoa before realizing it’s hot enough to burn his mouth. As he blows on his drink, she asks, “How’s school here?”

He shrugs. “It’s school.”

She sighs. “But what are your classes like? What do you study?”

For a while they talk about classes and his favorite subjects and what she remembers of schools in Kalos. He makes her smile a few more times and finds that he likes doing it – his parents don’t really smile much when he talks about school.

After a long talk, she catches him off guard, asking, “Are there a lot of fights at your school?”

“Huh? No.” He thinks he probably shouldn’t say that he’s usually involved in the few scuffles that do occur.

She taps her cheek. “So you didn’t get hurt by a classmate?”

“Oh. Uh –” He should probably not tell an adult, especially one that’s being nice to him, that it’s none of her business. Quickly, he lies, “I fell down. There’s a berry farm right by my house, and I was climbing this tree, right? But I kinda – I fell off it.” It feels lame and weak, but she just nods.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it wasn’t someone else who gave that to you.” He feels a quiver go through him. He clenches his fists in his lap and tries to stay still.

Trying to keep her off that track, he asks, “What kinda science do you do?”

“Oh, our work involves trans-dimensional vortices and the study of –” She sees the blank expression on his face. “Well, do you know the old stories told here about rifts in the sky that Pokémon can come out of?”

He shrugs. “Aren’t those a bunch of old fairytales?”

“Well, not exactly. We have evidence of Pokémon interacting with and opening ways to other dimensions, and while we don’t know how that relates to the stories here, we’re interested in finding out.” She gazes off into the distance. “Wouldn’t it be nice to go to a new world, with brand new Pokémon to discover?”

Guzma thinks it’d be nice to go for another world for a lot of different reasons. “That’d be cool.” He glances up at the clock and shrinks back. “Um, I gotta go,” he says hesitantly, “I gotta be home for dinner.”

She smiles at him again. “Of course, dear. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.” He flinches slightly at that. “Why don’t you stop by the lab once we’re finished remodeling and moving everything in? I can show you more of what we’re doing.”

He shrugs. “Okay.” He remembers the guy who was with her the other day. “You sure it’s okay?”

“It’s my lab. I promise it’s alright.” She waves as he grunts a goodbye and walks away.

That night Dad yells at him for being late, grabs his shoulders too hard as usual, pushes him back against the wall hard enough to knock the wind out of him as he shouts. Guzma tries to tune him out, staring at him with blank eyes while remembering the conversation.

People are trying to be nice to him. They’ll see they shouldn’t eventually and leave him alone like everyone else, but maybe for a while it’d be okay to pretend he has a friend or two.


End file.
